Harry Jaffa’s Crisis of the House Divided: An Interpretation of the Issues in the Lincoln-Douglas Debates was first published in 1959. That work has long held the distinction of being the finest work written on Abraham Lincoln’s political philosophy. Jaffa applied the methods he had learned from Leo Strauss at the University of Chicago to analyze Lincoln’s contribution to American political thought. Crisis was distinctive in that it treated the Lincoln-Douglas conflict not merely as an interesting historical phenomenon but also as one of deep philosophical import.

Although referencing Lincoln-Douglas debates immediately calls to mind the formal debates between the two men in the 1858 Illinois senatorial contest, in truth, this was a six-year tête-à-tête implicating such matters as the nature of democratic governance, the extent of human equality, the meaning of natural rights in the definition of justice, and more. The uniqueness of Jaffa’s project, namely his careful consideration of both Douglas’s and Lincoln’s philosophies, and his erudition make up what is truly a classic of American political thought.

Perhaps it is an overreaction, a basking in the afterglow of reading a truly marvelous work, but I believe that Michael Zuckert’s new book, A Nation So Conceived: Abraham Lincoln and the Paradox of Democratic Sovereignty, deserves to stand next to Jaffa as a monumental achievement in Lincoln studies and American political thought in general. Himself schooled in Straussian methods, Zuckert gives a penetrating analysis of Lincoln’s lifetime of public grappling with the paradox of democratic sovereignty. The combination of precision in analysis with clear articulation is a rarity in political thought.

The paradox of Zuckert’s subtitle, as expressed through Lincoln, is that natural equality implies that the people can only be ruled by their consent. Democratic government has as its foundation the “equality, the basic dignity, of all people.” Yet, as Zuckert states,

just as those principles are the basis for constructing free government, so they are also the source of threats to the perpetuation of American free institutions. … If power belongs to the people, then the populist conclusion that the people are justified in circumventing established legal institutions and practices when they feel these are not functioning according to their will seems to follow.

What if the people, or some segment of them, act against natural equality in favor of their perceived self-interest? Thus, the paradox Lincoln articulates during the war: “Is there, in all republics, this inherent, and fatal weakness? Must a government, of necessity, be too strong for the liberties of its own people, or too weak to maintain its own existence?”

Democratic Sovereignty

Zuckert traces Lincoln’s concerns regarding the paradox of democratic sovereignty from Lincoln’s early Lyceum Address on “The Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions” through the Second Inaugural and Lincoln’s interrupted strategies for post-war reconstruction. In his interpretation of the Lyceum Address, Zuckert notes Lincoln’s tragic view of democratic politics,

There is something tragic in what Lincoln thus far has implied, for the very success of popular government contributes to the confidence of the people in their own sovereignty and thus suggests to them the rightfulness of acting directly, even when, as Lincoln is certain is the case, that direct action threatens the achievements of popular government.

In the case of the Lyceum Address, the threat is mob rule. Later Stephen Douglas’s popular sovereignty theory will threaten natural rights and natural equality. But both the mob and radical popular sovereignty theories confuse the voice of the people for the voice of God.

How does the statesman operate under the sometimes-contradictory claims of democracy and natural justice? In Zuckert’s analysis, Lincoln delicately chides Henry Clay for Clay’s unwillingness to defend anti-slavery principles, most importantly natural equality, through public rhetoric. While Clay was the consummate legislative bargainer, he did not see that a democratic statesman must shape or mold the opinions of the people. The great threat of Stephen Douglas was precisely this: he tempted the people into not caring whether slavery was voted up or down.

Lincoln accused Douglas of having a “lullaby argument,” namely that the West was not conducive to slavery. If the nation simply remained neutral on the matter, it would not spread. Lincoln critiqued this diagnosis in two ways. First, he believed it was factually incorrect. Here Lincoln was on solid ground. There was ample evidence that slavery could thrive outside of the labor-intensive farming natural to Southern crops such as cotton and tobacco.

But second, and more importantly, Douglas was forced to attack the Declaration of Independence and the principle of natural equality which is its central proposition to justify a “don’t care” attitude toward slavery. This, again, is the democratic paradox. Douglas was appealing to popular sovereignty, the will of the people. If they wanted slavery, they should have it. If they didn’t, they could regulate it out of existence. Yet, Douglas’s popular sovereignty argument could only succeed by cutting the legs out from under democratic government by denying natural equality that justifies democracy in the first place. There is in Douglas’s philosophy, argues Zuckert, more than a whiff of “moral nihilism.”

Zuckert rightly points out that Douglas’s view of democracy was merely procedural. So long as the democratic process was respected, we should be indifferent or neutral regarding the outcomes of democratic government. Lincoln was not so sanguine. Zuckert’s Lincoln “points to the need for a stronger public reaffirmation of the moral and political principle at stake in the American experiment.” In Zuckert’s opinion, “[Lincoln] insisted that the question of substantive principle—the question of the inherent right or wrong of slavery—could not be pushed aside in favor of the procedural solution of popular sovereignty.”

This is the very problem of the position dubbed (for better or for worse) “David Frenchism.” Whether it is drag queen story hour or controversies over educational content, there is a tendency on the part of some to say “free speech” and leave it there. Not wishing to align with the severest critics of “David Frenchism,” and certainly not conscripting Zuckert for their cause, there is something to the argument that we must judge the substance of democratic decision-making, not designating a democratic outcome “good” simply because it followed a certain process. Lincoln, Zuckert seems to be arguing, believes the democratic processes are necessary but not sufficient for a just government.

Progress and the Founding

In this the democratic statesman faces an additional paradox: he must encourage reverence for founding principles but not be so constrained by them that progress cannot be made. I have argued that Lincoln’s attitude toward change is similar to that in some theological circles, namely doctrinal development must be made within a “hermeneutic of continuity.” Unlike Theseus’s ship, there must be some planks on the ship of state that retain their original character in order to maintain the good that emanates from the nation’s founding. This is certainly true of the American nation, whose founding principles are philosophically sound.

Zuckert ably demonstrates Lincoln’s lifelong concern with the role of the statesman in maintaining what has been handed down while also leaving open the possibility of progress. In the Lyceum Address, Lincoln famously warns of the leaders who are of the “family of the lion, the tribe of the eagle,” those whose ambition disdains the beaten path. Such persons represent both possibilities of renewal but also the threat of tyranny. They can capture the imagination of the people and use that popular support to gain power, either by “emancipating slaves, or enslaving freemen.”

Lincoln posits in the Lyceum Speech dedication to the Constitution and laws as a “political religion,” with innovators looked upon with deep suspicion. However, in another early Lincoln speech, before the Washington Temperance Society in 1842, Lincoln considers the nature of reform. It may be in the nature of the reformist mindset to seek a scapegoat, to accuse with fiery denunciation those perceived to be enemies of progress. Lincoln notes that the temperance movement tended to condemn intemperately those drawn to drink, undermining the movement’s success. The “petty passions” of the people can be manipulated and seek out scapegoats to punish in the name of “progress.”

The Gettysburg Address and Second Inaugural serve as models for sound reform. At Gettysburg, Lincoln, in a mere ten sentences Zuckert reminds, distills the philosophical problem of American democracy. Zuckert notes the literal pregnant nature of the Address. Lincoln starts with two references to conception (“conceived in liberty” and “so conceived”) and ends with a “new birth of freedom.” This metaphor of fecundity takes on greater meaning when one notes Lincoln’s consistent invocation of “the fathers” in his rhetoric leading up to the Civil War. For example, in Lincoln’s 1860 Cooper Union Address he uses some version of “fathers” thirty-two times. In the Lyceum Speech, Lincoln, as with Machiavelli, declares founding superior to maintaining a regime.

But in Zuckert’s telling, the Gettysburg Address amends this finding. Lincoln is elevating the task of maintaining above that of founding. The “fathers” conceived a nation built on solid ideals. But the paradox of democratic sovereignty makes the maintenance of that regime more difficult than they anticipated. It is up to posterity to work, to labor, to midwife that which was conceived at the beginning of the nation. The ideals of the founding cannot “long endure” without careful, prudent statesmanship. Lincoln’s rhetoric calls us to revere the contributions of our fathers, to take their sound principles and as a guide for further improvement, all the while refraining from fiery or denunciatory rhetoric, encouraging “malice toward none … charity for all.”

Zuckert summarizes Lincoln’s views of democracy and reform. First, we must acknowledge that human will is not the source of political right. Zuckert does not say so explicitly, but this implies some kind of transcendent source of right. Second, we should be humble regarding our ability to correctly discern the nature of this supernatural or transcendent right. Yet, finally, we must pursue natural right despite its precise meaning remaining something of a mystery to us. This, Zuckert posits, is a profound political theology, far superior to the “glib and empty” attempts at such a melding of politics and religion today.

It speaks to the richness of Zuckert’s text that I have not scratched the surface of its profundity. I have not touched on Zuckert’s deft treatment of the legality and legitimacy of slavery under the Constitution. He also provides a nuanced discussion of the problem of judicial review, the notion that we must have judges, removed from democratic politics, decide our constitutional questions, while we fret over the possibility of undemocratic judicial supremacy. Zuckert most pointedly addresses this topic in his thorough and insightful treatment of the Dred Scott case. In addition, Zuckert serves up provocative interpretations of the right to revolution when discussing Lincoln’s opposition to the Mexican War, provides a comprehensive treatment of the legal and theoretical issues stemming from secession, and delivers a unique defense of Lincoln’s suspension of habeas corpus.

The work is not perfect. In his discussion of Lincoln’s two lectures on Discoveries and Inventions (see here and here) and the Wisconsin Agricultural Address, Zuckert misses an obvious opportunity to describe Lincoln’s deep commitment to Free Labor. Further, the book tends to focus on Lincoln’s defense of natural equality to the neglect of his defense of natural rights as a limitation on democratic governance. Finally, although the theme of democratic sovereignty is the core of the book, there are times when the book seems too many trees, too little forest. This is nicely corrected in the conclusion, however, when Zuckert concisely summarizes core themes.

It is not often that one comes across a book that is profound and well-written. This is such a book. The book has that unique characteristic of being timely and, I predict, timeless. It deserves recognition as a significant contribution to Lincoln studies and the study of American political thought. I could not help but conclude by the book’s end that A Nation So Conceived should be mandatory reading for all statesmen. Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray that our leaders could better appreciate the principles discussed and articulated in this excellent work.